


Put Your Arms Around Me, Hold On To Me

by karumenchan



Category: The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Kitty - Freeform, M/M, and i can help but think of all the possible scenarios, but will be comforting and fluffy too, involving these two after it, livvys death killed me, maybe even a little hot u know, this is really angsty okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-06 19:13:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13417812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karumenchan/pseuds/karumenchan
Summary: “She’s in heaven, Ty. She’s in heaven, she’s in heaven.”Kit had never believed in God, or angels or anything above humans, but he clung to his own words like they were the only thing keeping him alive as Ty convulsed under his touch.





	1. Chapter 1

Ty had felt it, the life leaving some intrinsic part of him, and it didn’t make sense because when he looked down to check on his body he was okay. There was blood on his clothes, but it was from minor injuries. He was _okay_. It didn’t make any sense and his eyes darted to scan the room, his mind racing, but it seemed like the world was crumbling all around him. The light, the movement, was blinding him, the noise surrounding him making the floor beneath his feet feel like shifting sands, the thump of his own wild heart echoing inside him so loud and strong that he felt as if his ribcage would explode anytime.

The world started to spin faster, and he felt like throwing up and he choked on his own words as he whispered, repeatedly, a silent prayer too loud for his own ears. _“Make it stop, Livvy, make it stop.”_

He felt someone’s arms around him before his head hit the floor. It was the first time in his life that his twin hadn’t been there to calm him down.

_“Livvy.”_

When he came back to his senses everything was silent, still, quiet, but his heart kept roaring in his chest like a raging lion and it was hard to breathe. His blood seemed to have frozen on his veins and his stomach felt empty, hollow. He was lying on something soft —a bed, he presumed— and his eyes shot open as the memories came to him like a tidal wave against the rocks of a cliff.  And then there were arms around him —arms he knew too well considering the short time he had known their owner— and he knew.

He knew like he knew almost every word in his favorite Sherlock Holmes’s book; like he knew the anatomy of moths and butterflies and bees; like he knew by heart the sound of the words that always seemed to make everything slow down when he felt like his head was about to combust. “ _Glass. Twin. Apple. Whisper. Stars. Crystal. Shadows. Lilt.”_

He knew, like he knew that his twin would always find a way to make the world seem peaceful and muffled, that she was dead.

_“Glass. Twin. Apple. Whisper. Stars. Crystal. Shadows. Lilt.”_

The words weren’t working.

_“Glass. Twin. Apple. Whisper. Stars. Crystal. Shadows. Lilt.”_

His train of thought broke, his lungs on fire as he struggled for air, and he heard a whimper, and it sounded far, so far away, that he didn’t realize it was his until hot, humid, salty tears reached the corner of his mouth. Kit’s arms tightened around him and, this time, he felt his cry leave his throat.

His arms darted to fasten around the boy above him and he sank his fingers in soft hot flesh. Kit didn’t even wince, he stayed there, unmovable, a supporting pillar to Ty’s trembling body. Ty finally let his tears run free.

“She’s dead. Livvy is dead. Where is she? She’s dead.”

He struggled for breath and felt Kit’s blood tainting his fingernails as he sank them deeper between his shoulder blades.

“Livvy. Livia. Where is she. Where is Livia.” It wasn’t a question.

His voice sounded strange to his own ears and the world started to twist around him once again. He yanked free from Kit’s arms just before he tasted the bitter flavor of bile in his tongue, and he rolled from the bed, not even feeling pain as his knees hit the hard floor with a loud thump, Kit’s strong hands holding his head as he threw up on the floor.

“She’s in heaven, Ty. She’s in heaven, she’s in heaven.”

Kit had never believed in God, or angels or anything above humans, but he clung to his own words like they were the only thing keeping him alive as Ty convulsed under his touch.

Ty held onto them too, drowning himself in the whispered prayer in Kit’s voice as darkness engulfed him once more.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The world felt still around him. 

Even though he could see the air shuffling the leaves on the trees, and a trail of blood were Emma’s nails were digging in her own skin, and the tremble in Mark’s shoulders as he crushed Cristina’s hands with his own and Dru’s wet features contorting in ways that it was painful to look at. Even though he could see Julian’s jaw clenching, trying to bite back the tears and failing miserably.

The world felt still, even if he could hear Kit’s ragged breath beside him.

It was the first time in his life that Ty wished for chaos. For the world to scream and flash lights at him like it had done in the Council Hall, like it had done when he had woken up in a foreign bed and utterly hollow inside.

Millions of images flashed in front of his eyes, drowning what ever words the Silent Brother was whispering in all of their heads: Livvy perched on his desk while he darted his fingers across his computer’s keyboard, Livvy’s head on his lap as he rambled and rambled for hours about animals and Sherlock Holmes, Livvy holding his hands tight between hers, anchoring him to the solid ground when everything seemed like an earthquake under his feet. Livvy laying on her back, stuffed in white, her skin smeared with runes as red as the blood he never got to see when Annabel stabbed her, and her body so terribly still that she looked like a porcelain doll. It was wrong. It was so wrong. Livvy wasn’t a porcelain doll: she was a warrior, a protector made of flesh and blood and a raging temper. A sister with a heart that beat so loud and steady that Ty could hear it above everything when the world screamed too much into his head.

The ceremony was over before he even realized it had started. Sometime during the ritual a Silent Brother had crossed her arms over her chest, her right hand holding a seraph blade just over her heart, and bound her eyes with white silk. He heard the words in his head and all around him. An endless mutter of prayers that suddenly seemed like a scream into nothingness. “ _Ave atque vale,”_ they said. “ _Pulvus et umbra sumus.”_

Ty felt the words leave his own mouth before he could think them and barely noticed the world starting to move around him again. Someone pressed a hand on his shoulder and he shrugged it away.

Faceless bodies raised the glass coffin inside which Livvy was laying. Since she had died in Idris, she would be taken to the necropolis outside Alicante’s walls, where the Blackthorn family owned a thousand-year-old mausoleum. It was  _wrong_. Livvy wasn’t meant to be under ground. She was meant to be walking above it, sprinting through forests and asphalted roads and slashing demons with the elegance of a professional ballerina. She was meant to be on the Institute, sleeping soundly beside Ty and stirring slowly back to life every morning with a wide smile and all-knowing eyes.

His feet moved on their own and he prepared himself to punch senseless anyone who tried to stop him, but no one did, not even the Silent Brothers, as he approached Livvy’s white figure inside the crystal box and grabbed his twin’s right hand, the one holding the seraph blade.

“I love you.” His throat felt like sandpaper. There was something wet on Livvy’s cold cheek, and he realized it was his own tear. “I love you, Livia.”

He stood there, whispering the same words over and over again, raising his voice with each syllable until he was almost shouting, his heart thumping so wildly inside his ribcage that he could hear them shattering. Then, there were arms around him, pulling him from behind and away from Livvy. He tried to struggle, but the fight left him immediately as he was spun around and shoved into a hard chest. He buried his face into it, allowing his brother to finally put his arms around him and clinging to his white suit as if it was a rope and he was falling into a chasm.

“Let’s go home, Ty. Let’s go home.” His voice was weak. It didn’t sound like Julian’s voice at all.

“It’s no home without Livvy.”

His brother’s breath hitched above him, and when he spoke again, Ty could hear the cracks in his voice, the sound of his soul and the stainless-steel armor he’d built around him since he was 12 years old to protect all of his family crashing to little irreparable pieces.

“I know. I know.”

 

* * *

 

Kit threw the white oversized suit he’d been wearing at the funeral into a puddle in the floor as soon as they got back to the Institute and ran to the training room in a pair of sweats and a ragged t-shirt. Ty was already there, his right hand still and heavy around the edge of a knife, the fingers of his left hand flapping effortlessly by his side, his headphones nowhere to be seen. He flicked his wrist and the knife flew from his hand, sinking with a low thump in the middle of the bullseye. Kit felt a shiver run down his spine. Ty had had his eyes closed.

He still didn’t know how he felt about Livvy’s death, probably because he still hadn’t assumed that it had really happened. It felt surreal, out of a dream, and Kit had to force his hopes that it really was deep into the depths of his mind. He hadn’t known the Blackthorns for a long time, and still, the twins were the only two people he frequently talked to in the Institute. Maybe that was why Livvy’s death had left him feeling empty inside, because she and Ty had made him start to feel like maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad to be  Shadowhunter, to be called Herondale. It just didn’t seem real. Livvy had been all easy smiles and witty comments and mischievous eyes and, Kit knew, soft lips, and she hadn’t felt real at all lying in white silks and red runes, all of the aliveness that her presence always seemed to carry gone.

There were a thousand things he could say to Ty right now. How he had ignored what Alec Lightwood had asked from him, leaving Magnus Bane behind, and ran to the room where, just some minutes prior, Annabel Blackthorn had held the Mortal Sword between her deadless hands.  How his guts had contorted when he saw Livvy sprawled on the floor of the Council Hall in a pool of her own blood, Julian a trembling bird above her. How the room was filled to the brims with clashing swords and ragged screams, but he had only been able to look at Livy, motionless, and then at Ty, just as Mark’s arms had enclosed him before he hit his head on the floor. How he stood there, paralyzed, the world crashing around him and unable to move a single finger. How he didn’t even remember how it all had finished, just vague images of Centurions fleeing through shattered windows and the certainty that Livvy was dead, dead,  _dead_.

There were a thousand things he could say, but none of them would matter, because none of them could bring Livia Blackthorn back.

So, he strolled past Ty, took the knife that was lodged in the center of the bullseye and walked back to stand beside him. Ty opened his eyes —grey and sad and endless— and stepped aside to leave room for Kit to stand on the throwing position.

The blade felt cold against Kits fingers, and he stood awkwardly, shifting it in his palm until it felt comfortable enough. He threw it. He missed.

“You are not feeling it.” Ty’s voice was low and unexpected. “You have to feel it.”

“Feel what?”

“The desire to kill.” Ty took the blade from his hands and threw it. One swift motion that felt impossibly light. He did not miss.

“Do you?” Kit suddenly found it difficult to speak. “Do you feel the desire to kill?”

Silence seemed to stretch forever between them, and Kit forced himself to stay still, ignoring the prickling sensation crawling under his skin. Ty shook his head. Kit left out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“It’s not the desire to kill, is it?” Kit said. “It’s different, right?”

“I guess there’s people who do feel the desire to kill.” Ty’s gaze was fixed somewhere above Kit’s head.

“But you don’t.

“I don’t.” Ty shook his head. “But if you don’t fight a demon with the desire to kill, the it will kill you. That’s what everyone say, anyways.”

“And what if it’s not a demon?” Kit looked for Ty’s eyes. “What if it’s Annabel Blackthorn?”

Ty met his eyes. A fraction of a second that felt like an eternity. Ty had those kind of eyes that seemed to bore in the depths of your soul and lay bare all of your secrets. Johnny Rook always said that secrets were weapons deadlier than any atomic bomb or blessed blade by the Angel. That he needed to learn to grab other people’s secrets and turn them against them, and then he would be untouchable. That he needed to guard his own secrets deep within him, where no one else could find them, or else he’d be ruined. Right now, Kit didn’t care if he was to be ruined, as long as it was Ty and his fleeting eyes who ruined him.

“The desire to protect.”

Kit blinked, his thoughts scattering away when Ty’s voice pierced the distance between them

“Huh?”

“The desire to protect.” Ty repeated. “That’s what will drive me when I face Annabel and kill her. Not hate, not vengeance. Just the desire to make sure she doesn’t hurt anyone important to me ever again.”

Kit wondered where did Ty’s strength come from. He thought about the endless nightmare the beautiful boy in front of him lived in. How the world was too loud, too bright, too intense, too  _much_ for him and how almost no one around him seemed to have the smallest consideration for him. He thought about the other half of him, the half that introduce some kind of peace in his messed up world —that was what Livvy was— had been ripped out from him without a single chance to, at least, say goodbye. He thought about how he hated Malcolm Fade and the demons that had dismembered his father in front of his own eyes and Annabel Blackthorn, who had taken away the life that had devoted her whole life to protect, protect,  _protect_.

He thought about how, if he was able to face all of them again, he would run a blade through their hearts over and over again with venom in his tongue and hatred in his eyes.

He thought about how he hated the world. And wondered. Wondered how Ty, who had it a hundred times more difficult than he would ever have it, could still honestly say that he didn’t feel any kind of hate, any desire to kill.

“Because that’s what Livvy would’ve wanted.”

Ty was looking him in the eyes now, understanding and so sure of himself it made Kit’s heart stutter in his chest, and he realized he had spoken his last words aloud. Ty grabbed his hand and pushed a knife in it and pushed Kit into throwing position with light touches that left Kit wishing he would let his fingers linger a little longer.

“I’ll show you,” Ty said, adjusting Kit’s grip on the blade. “And, next time, we will protect everyone.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, back at it with a bit of angst, srry not srry;;; tell me what you think in the comments!  
> love,  
> carmen
> 
> p.s. as always find me on my tsc and lit tumblr @willhrondael


	3. Chapter 3

Weeks passed by in a flurry of thrown knives and ephemeral touches that always left Kit with a strange prickling sensation at the pit of his stomach and an unnerving crave for more, more, _more_. He wasn’t sure yet what was it that he missed when the day ended and he was laying flat on his back in the warm darkness of his room, if the feel of the throwing knives in his hands or the touch of Ty’s fluttering fingertips correcting his every movement. It was probably a mix of both. Sometimes, Kit felt tempted to make mistakes on purpose: to twist his wrist just before the dagger left his fingers or move his left foot slightly forward so the course would be off and Ty had to push him —touch him— back into the adequate stance once again. He always decided against it, though, because the swell of pride he felt when Ty smiled in acknowledgement after a particularly good throw seemed to lift him off his feet. Herondales were prideful ones, or so they said.

Leaving pride aside, Kit had to admit that the fact that he was getting better at the speed of light didn’t always sit well on him. Sometimes, after he was able to block a blow from Emma or beat Cristina in a butterfly knife throwing competition, the knowledge that he was good at this, —at being a Shadowhunter— that he was _made_ for this, hit him plumb on the nose and then Johnny Rook’s voice, full of contempt and hate against Nephilim made his gut twist with something akin to remorse. Here he was, in the den of the lions his father had always warned him against, those he had taught him to hate, and feeling like a kid who returns home after a very long time, not quite remembering the place, but knowing it was where he belonged to.

He rolled over, burying his face in his pillow and spitting out a trail of curses that in no way sounded softer even if they were being muffled.

“You sure got some nice pillow talk.”

Kit’s head shot up, blinking twice before his eyes adapted to the new lightening and recognized the blonde figure smirking at him from the doorframe.

“I didn’t hear you knocking.”

“That’s because I didn’t.”

Kit snorted.

“I know, that was sarc—”

“I know, I know.” She approached his bed and sat at the edge. “You forget I know Jace. But Julian always frustrates my attempts of being funny, so I have to take it on someone else.”

Kit rolled over to a sitting position, crossing his legs beneath him. Now that he had gotten accustomed to the dim light coming from the corridor, he could see the darkened skin under Emma’s eyes. It was a common sight now in the Los Angeles Institute, dark under-eye circles and tear stains permanently tattooed on cheeks.

“Who do I take it on, then?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Jace.” She leaned back on her elbows. “He usually declares war to anyone that tampers with his sarcastic remarks, but I got the feeling he wouldn’t hold it against you.”

Kit’s eyebrow shot up. “Why not?”

“I think he kinda wants your approval. He may want to take up on the cool uncle role.”

Kit remembered what Alec Lightwood had told him before Hell broke loose in the Council Hall. _“He was worried about meeting you. He’s not used to having living blood relatives. He cared what you thought. He wanted you to like him.”_ He felt as if something warm was tugging at his chest, but he pulled it aside and raised his head to look at Emma.

“So, why are you here?”

She feigned a pained expression. “Why, am I not allowed to visit my favorite sarcastic asshole?” Kit simply raised his eyebrow. “Okay, that’s not why am here, but I seriously appreciate not having to tie my sailor tongue while I’m around you.”

“Dru would probably appreciate if you didn’t, either.”

“Yeah, but Julian would send one of his disapproving-dad-looks my way. I really don’t want that.”

Kit snorted, not quite a laugh, but the closest to it he had been in many weeks. “They’re quite disheartening.”

“They make me feel like I’ve just killed an innocent puppy.” This time, Kit did laugh and some seconds later, Emma let out a wholesome giggle too.

He’d known Emma for a long time, since she used to stroll through the Shadow Market from time to time to gather information and question his father. He remembered the day she had come to his father’s stall with that redhead —Arkdown, Assdown? — and had spotted Kit, the fear he felt when he thought she might take him with her. He liked Emma now, even if he wasn’t going to admit it any time soon, she was easy-going and brave and, maybe, a little bit like him. An outsider in this tight-knitted family. Maybe, one day, the Blackthorn family would carve a place for him as they had done for her. Maybe they had already done it, ever since the day they came to his aid when the demons had attacked his father and Ty had slept on the floor in front of his door and Livvy had invited him to spy on the Centurions with a curious glance and a wicked smile.

“So…?”

“Right, I came here to tell you, you and Ty are going in a reconnaissance mission to Polperro in about an hour.”

“Polperro? I thought Julian and you already brought back everything you found there.”

“That’s what we think but we got attacked by the Seven Riders and we might have let something slip.” She got up from the bed. “Plus, Ty says he’s got a hunch.”

Kit straightened at this. “What kind of hunch?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is Julian seriously going to let us go alone?”

Emma sighed, threading a hand through her tangled her. “He refused at first. But Ty can be very… convincing. He´s explaining his plan to Jules in detail right now, that’s why he sent me to warn you.” She started towards the door and stopped just to look over her shoulder with a knowing smirk. “Ty would’ve come to get you himself otherwise.”

Kit wasn’t quite sure if the smirk plastered over her face meant she was implying something else or not, but he felt his cheeks warm all the same.

As soon as Emma’s steps drifted he jumped from the bed and shot through the door, his feet barely scrapping the floor beneath him as he climbed up the stairs to the office where Arthur Blackthorn used to keep all of his crazy acquisitions as well as himself. Julian had packed everything with Mark’s and Emma’s help and moved it to the basement, leaving only a couple of wooden desks and the shelves that held important documents. Kit knocked before pushing the door open, just to bump into Ty’s slender frame, toppling them both to the floor.

“Is that how you two are going to handle your mission?” Julian’s voice was a mix of amusement, worry and deep exhaustion. “Because I’m starting to reconsider if it’s a good decision to let you go alone.”

Ty got up and offered a hand to Kit, who took it very willingly, and pulled him up. He may or may not have imagined Ty’s fingers lingering for a second longer before letting go.

“We’re going even if you change your mind, so there’s no point on discussing this any further.”

Julian let a loud sigh and leaned over the mahogany desk.

“You two be careful.”

Ty brushed past Kit and exited the office, but Kit stood at the door frame, unsure of what to do. He breathed in deep and said, “We’ll bring you some Saffron cake or something. You guys are seriously lacking some sugar supplies in this place.”

Julian lifted his eyes to him and Kit could see that his lips curved slightly. “Thanks.”

Kit nodded and left the office, almost missing Ty leaning at the end of the set of stairs.

“I don’t like Saffron cake.” He was frowning, and Kit fought an impulse to lift his hand and press his thumb against the wrinkles between Ty’s eyebrows to smoothen them down.

“We’ll look for something else for you.” Ty smiled, and Kit felt something twist inside his chest.

**

Kit clutched at his stomach. He’d been living in the Los Angeles Institutes for some time now, and had had to use Portals to travel more than once, but he still wasn’t used to it— the feeling of his stomach jumping inside his body, the certainty that he was free-falling and he would crash against the ground in a heap of blood and broken bones.

Ty looked perfectly fine, though — his elegant features calm and composed, his marbled skin making a stark contrast against his gear in a way that made Kit trip on his own two feet.

“Be careful,” said Ty. “If something happens, Julian won’t let us go alone on missions ever again.”

Kit grunted and followed Ty, forcing his eyes to stay on the gravel road ahead of them and away from Tiberius Blackthorn. He had to admit that, as much as he hated Portals, he loved the rough sensation of his combat gear over his skin, the perfect fit of his boots and quiet reassurance of the light seraph blades hanging from his belt. His body prickled with excitement, even if he knew this was just a reconnaissance mission and he probably wouldn't get to use any of his blades. He recalled the random fights in which he'd been involved in what now seemed his previous life — the raw excitement in his gut when his fist collided against the jaw of some bully in his highschool; the wild thumping of his heart against his ribcage as he dodged a kick aimed to his groin; the bubbling happiness in his throat as he went home, bruised, bloody and about to check in a long scolding rant from his father, but victorious. Maybe his body had already know then, that he was made for fighting. Or maybe that's just how every teenage boy felt after releasing some pent up tension on someone's elses face.

“So, what are we looking for?”

“I don’t know.” Ty stopped and shielded his eyes from the Sun with his right hand.

Kit followed his line of sight and squinted, “You don’t know?” He saw a small wooden house that, from where they were standing, looked like it was hanging from the cliff. “I thought you had a hunch?”

“Yeah. That’s what a hunch is.” Ty started to walk again, feet light on the ground. “I know there’s something here, but I don’t know what it is.”

“Cool.”

Ty looked at him from the corner of his eye and Kit felt a pang in his heart. He had gotten used to Livvy clarifying his sarcastic remarks to Ty for him. Now it seemed he’d have to make up for her empty spot between them.

“Uh, sorry. I mean—”

“I know.”

Kit frowned. “You know?”

“Yeah. Not always, but it’s fun to figure you out.”

Kit fought the blush crawling over his cheeks.

“Julian used to draw all of those made-up expressions for me, but you can’t really draw sarcasm, can you?” Ty frowned. “It’s like— like the same word can mean a lot of different things depending on how you say it and the situation you’re in, right?”

“Yeah. I guess that’s it… It just comes natural to me, I never gave it much thought.”

“Hmmm… It bothers me, when people use ironies and idioms and expressions that don’t make any sense to me.” They reached the house and paused. “But I don’t care if you do.”

“Why not?”

“Because you are always truthful, so if you say something that sounds contradictory in my head, I automatically know it’s something sarcastic.”

“Who says I’m truthful?”

“I do. I’ve been watching you.”

“Wow. That is creepy as fuck, Ty.” Kit’s heart leaped in his chest, though, and for a moment he was sure Ty had heard it, because he smiled at him, open and a little bit mischievous.

“Well, let’s find something to look for.”

Ty put his hand on the wooden door and pushed.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, babies! Sorry for the delay and the shortness! There's been some shit going on in my life and I just scraped some time to write this chapter.  
> Thanks everyone for the sweet comments, it always make me smile when you guys tel me your thoughts and what you liked best about one of my fics, keep on being amazing!!!  
> Hope you enjoy it!  
> Carmen, xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! This is my first Kitty fic ever and it's gonna be angsty and fluffy and, hopefully, comforting.  
> This first chapter is short, just a sort of prologue, and I will continue the story depending on people responses, so tell me what you think!  
> Also, if you need to scream and cry about Kitty and/or Livvy's death, hit me up cause I need it very badly too.  
> Lots of love,  
> Carmen
> 
> p.s. my tsc sideblog in tumblr is @willhrondael, so you can get me through there too if u want to!


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